


The Opposite of Real Love

by Pixel_Cat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Crazy Mizuki, Fantasies involving murder, Implied KakaIru, Jealousy, M/M, Mizuki is really screwed up, One Shot, Past Abuse, Past MizuIru, Violent Fantasies, false love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixel_Cat/pseuds/Pixel_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is a perfect opposite to real love, Mizuki knows what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Real Love

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was based on a prompt I found online, "Is there an opposite to real love?"
> 
> I thought the idea was pretty cool and decided to see if I could write a batshit crazy character.
> 
> Hopefully, I did that right.
> 
> Enjoy~

If there is a perfect opposite to real love, Mizuki knows what it is. He feels it every damn moment he sits in his cell in one of the deepest parts of the prison that the Torture and Interrogation Division guards over like the mindless little freaks they were, bending and twisting just to fit the Hokage’s every word and every whim. Tch. Pathetic.

However, the annoyingly loyal ninja could never be as pathetic as the stupid brunet who dumped him in this hellhole in the first place. Umino Iruka, the weakling that always had to be the knight in shining armor, the good boy that did good things for good reasons. If Mizuki could, he would’ve wrapped his hands gently around the other’s throat and then squeezed. He would squeeze so hard that those pretty chocolate eyes would widen unbelievably in fear as the chuunin would scramble to get Mizuki to release his grip. Oh, how he would enjoy watching the younger man struggle to breathe in the precious air he needed to live. Those thin fingers scrabbling for purchase, but only leaving long scratches on Mizuki’s pale arms. That was all the man would be able to do.

But Mizuki wasn’t kind, he was a fucking cruel asshole when he wanted to be. It wasn’t like he couldn’t be nice. No, there were times when he plastered a smile to his face and pretended that he didn’t want to viciously murder everyone within a five mile radius. With Iruka though, he couldn’t help but let the darkness seep out of the chinks in the mask he wore. Iruka saw the faults that drifted across the surface of his character, but the brunet never saw the shadowy abyss that laid right beneath it. Iruka, Iruka, Iruka. Didn’t the man know that not everything was what it seemed?

The chunin should’ve known better than to trust him. Hadn’t the shorter man realized that all Mizuki did was insult him and take advantage of the fact that the man loved him? All those nights he left the schoolteacher bleeding or sobbing on the floor should’ve been a big clue. And if that wasn’t enough, all the times he purposely hurt Iruka during their ‘lovemaking’ should’ve done it.

So, while the slender shithead would be begging him to let go with his fearful doe-like eyes, Mizuki would just laugh. And laugh. And laugh. He would laugh and laugh until his cheeks were wet with salty tears. He would laugh and laugh until his vocal cords were hoarse with the strain. He would laugh and laugh until the life drained out of those soft chocolate orbs, leaving behind an unnatural emptiness that would only serve to make his chest heave as chuckles rumbled out of him uncontrollably. 

Yes….Those eyes would be priceless. All they ever did was bring a strange gnawing sensation to claw at his mind and coil in his gut, a cold and heavy pressure against his consciousness. But not anymore! Those eyes would be gone, never to express the chuunin’s annoyance, or his joy, or his love, or his guilt, or….or his pain.

Mizuki supposed there was one thing he would miss about his childhood friend, and that was the delicious agony that was embedded in the other’s gaze. The time he spent carefully cultivating the younger man’s misery were some of his most important tasks. He wasted much of his efforts carving out the little dolphin to be the tool he needed. What he didn’t expect, however, was the demon brat getting in the way between him and his silly toy.

He could not and would not understand how the pony-tailed man managed to find some affection for the blond snotty kid. Iruka must of felt the same anger at the boy. He suffered the same as Mizuki did when the Kyuubi attacked. Hell, the brunet lost his sole family that night. His mother and father forever stolen by the brightly burning fire and the waves of copper blood staining the ground. How could Iruka look at the monster so lovingly and ignore the powerful being hidden beneath the smiling face and cerulean eyes? Mizuki would never forget. He wouldn't and he couldn't. He loathed the boy. He loathed him so much that he craved and wished to see the blond’s life end.

But there was only one person that he wanted to kill other than Iruka and the blond idiot, and the man just had to be insufferable, lazy, and a jounin. A jounin? As if such an arrogant, cold, and childish moron had any right to being such a high rank! If that didn’t make things bad enough, the silver-haired shinobi was starting to notice his dolphin. At first, it was barely noticeable. Even Mizuki, the manipulative and clever person he was, didn’t know about the brief looks of longing and the faint flush that painted the pale man’s cheeks until one day it just crashed into him.

Hatake Kakashi, the last of the Hatake Clan, thought he could take his Iruka away from him.

Mizuki didn’t really care about the brunet. No matter how many times the scarred man would whisper his love breathlessly and tiredly, he knew that he did not return the same feelings. No. He felt the exact opposite for the schoolteacher, that foolish affection the other believed in. He felt it in the unnerving silence of his cell. He felt it in the frosty air during the winter. He felt it in the scalding heat of the summer. He felt it even as his mind spiraled down further and further away from sanity.

It was an emotion that rushed through his veins like the world’s most euphoric drug, and it ate away at his skin hastily like the world’s most dangerous poison. It started out small, a hiss in the back of his mind barely worth acknowledging. Now, it was a piercing screech that banged on his eyelids mercilessly and pounded his brain against his skull. It screamed for blood. It screamed for destruction. And most of all, it screamed for revenge.

As he sat in his cell, Mizuki let his imagination run wild. Images of Hatake and Iruka ran through his thoughts. They were kissing. They were training. They were making love. They were laughing. They were smiling. They were hugging. They were holding hands. They were rolling their eyes playfully. They were. They were. They were.

The pictures were seared into his brain, and slowly, the figures began to morph. They were biting. They were killing. They were fucking. They were glaring, They were frowning. They were yelling. They were grabbing. They were sighing. They were. They were. They were.

A smile broke out on his face among all of the scowls that he wore as the seconds ticked on by. It would’ve be wonderful to see his Iruka’s tears again. Would they be crystal clear and small, or would they be bloody and thick? His tongue swiped across his lips in attempt to soothe the cracked and chapped surface. The idea of seeing the chuunin tortured beginning to stir him from his numbed state. He wouldn’t just wrap his hands around the other’s throat. Not anymore. He was going to do more, he was going to make the scarred man suffer more.

Mizuki would begin by slitting the throats of his students while Iruka was teaching. The imagined horror was enough to send pleasurable shivers running down his spine. He continued to daydream, expanding the horizons of his fantasy. Then, of course, he would grab the chuunin and rough him up a bit. Twin black eyes, a split lip, bruises littering the bronze skin, and bleeding gashes weren’t too bad, were they? Mizuki was going to be honest. The younger man deserved much more, but he would have taken pity on him and softened up his treatment quite a bit. He was sure his childhood friend would be glad that Mizuki didn’t snap any of his bones or twist something a way that it wasn’t meant to go.

Finally, once the pained screams died down, Hatake would burst in with terror and anger alight in his eyes. Both of them revealed, because the danger the lithe brunet was in would be enough to force the scrawny shinobi to use all of his dirty tricks. With one stony black eye and a crimson one that spun eerily while watching him, Mizuki would laugh as he continued to choke the chuunin to death. Those chocolate orbs would widen, trapped between the emotions of horror and pain. But right before the man would pass out, Mizuki would loosen his hold. Iruka, the innocent soul he was, would sigh in relief, completely unaware of the kunai being swung towards his neck and slashing straight into his jugular vein.

At that point, Hatake would lose any sense of humanity and rush towards Mizuki, a dark expression foretelling death, and not of his own. Mizuki was no idiot though. He knew he was outmatched. The jounin would rip him to shreds and torture him every step of the way. A toothy grin would stretch across his lips, and even as the silver-haired man descended upon him like an avenging angel, he knew it was too late. Umino Iruka was going to die, and die he would by Mizuki’s hands, just as Mizuki would die by Hatake’s. He won their game though. He took his revenge and permanently damaged Konoha’s best ninja in the process. Yes. He did live a good life….

“Your food’s here.” A guard sneered as she chucked a loaf of stale bread through the anti-chakra bars.

Mizuki was snapped out his reverie, and the glee that previously danced around his body slowly drained away. He did not murder any Academy brats. He did not beat Umino Iruka. He did not antagonize Hatake Kakashi. He did not kill Umino Iruka. He was not violently ripped apart by the famous copy-nin. It was all a fantasy, one that he had concocted in his deranged mind.

He shoved a piece of his meal into his mouth and chewed on it angrily. Hatake Kakashi stole what was his and wasted all of Mizuki’s time shaping the chuunin to be the perfect minion. How frustrating. But what was even more irritating was the knowledge that he lost against the perverted jounin, his Iruka had slipped through his fingers and into the grasp of another.

At last, Mizuki knew the answer to the question that lingered within him for a long time. The identity of the furious and vibrant emotion that rattled his bones and sent him into a frozen wasteland. It was a strong and unyielding force, and the image of Iruka’s face made his lips twist into a snarl. There was only one thing he felt, and it was a bitter sensation; corrupted and irrepressible. 

Absolute hatred was the perfect opposite to real love.


End file.
